Horse Sense
by jedijae
Summary: Agnarr never bets against his wife. Especially when it come to horses. That's just, well, horse sense. Too bad some visiting trade representatives don't have any sense at all... From a headcanon prompt on Tumblr


_"Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people."_ _― W.C. Fields_

* * *

"Your Majesty, are you sure want to do this?" the handsome young American asked Iduna. "It's not gentlemanly to embarrass a lady, much less a Queen." He looked worriedly down at Iduna from his perch on the back of a handsome chestnut racehorse.

Iduna smiled sweetly as she shifted in her saddle. "Don't worry, Mister Shelby. I'm never embarrassed by a good race, regardless of the outcome. And Beyla could use the exercise." She patted her dun fjord horse fondly on the neck.

Agnarr fought to keep a straight face. For the past three days, he and Iduna had listened to the young man, part of a visiting American trade delegation, pontificate nonstop about horses. Once Shelby had learned of Iduna's love of horses, he'd subjected her to his every opinion on training, breeding, and racing. He'd bragged about the superior quality of American horses in general, and the superiority of his Kentucky racehorse, who had made the journey with him, in particular.

"_No slight to your fjord horses, of course, Your Majesty. I'm sure they are fine animals. But they're really more like ponies. For a race, you just can't beat a good American quarter horse, and especially not my Boone."_

Iduna then declared that she felt obligated to defend the honor of their fjord horses, and asked Shelby if he cared to make a wager.

And here they were, at the racetrack on the outskirts of town.

Agnarr retreated to the edge of the track as Iduna and Shelby lined up at the starting pole. The leader of the American trade delegation joined him.

"I've never seen a lady wear riding breeches, Your Majesty," he commented. "Most men would not permit their wives to ride astride, much less wear breeches do so."

Agnarr raised an eyebrow. "I don't _permit_ my wife to do anything, Mister Metcalfe. She has her own mind. I never question her judgment, especially when it comes to horses. And I _never_ bet against her."

"Good for marital relations," Metcalfe quipped, "but probably bad for your pocketbook."

"On the contrary, I've found betting on my wife to be quite lucrative."

"Oh? Care to make a side wager, then? Say, twenty dollars?"

"Done," Agnarr said. They shook hands.

Shelby's manservant stepped to the starting line. "The agreed distance is one mile, four laps around the track." Iduna and Shelby both nodded, and the manservant raised his arm. "On your mark, get set, GO!"

He dropped his arm and the two riders spurred their horses. Shelby pulled away from Iduna after about a hundred feet. By the time Shelby finished the first lap, Iduna was only halfway around, Beyla going at a steady gallop.

Metcalfe whooped. "Boone has never lost a race," he said.

"He's a very fast horse," Agnarr acknowledged. "But the race isn't over yet."

On the second lap, Iduna was still behind by about a third of the distance of the track. But on the third lap, she gained even more, and was only a couple hundred feet behind when she and Beyla passed the starting pole. Agnarr could see that Boone was visibly tired and slowing down. Beyla passed him at the halfway mark on the last lap, still running at the steady gallop that Iduna had put her in at the beginning of the race. By the time they hit the stretch, Iduna was ten lengths ahead. Shelby used his crop on Boone, but the racehorse was done. Iduna crossed the finish line over thirty lengths ahead.

Iduna pulled Beyla up by Agnarr and Metcalfe and jumped off. She stroked the fjord horse's chin, then rested her forehead against Beyla's nose, praising her. Beyla was puffing a little but looked like she could run another mile.

Agnarr held out his hand. Metcalfe grumbled but fished out his pocketbook and handed over an American twenty-dollar note.

Shelby dismounted and led Boone over to them. The racehorse was heaving and covered with lather and sweat.

"What do you think of our _ponies_ now, Mister Shelby?" Iduna asked, grinning.

Shelby had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I should have listened to your stable master. He said you couldn't beat a good fjord horse for endurance."

"You mean you knew fjord horses were known for their endurance and you agreed to a mile-long race anyway?" Metcalfe sputtered. "I just lost twenty dollars because of you!"

Iduna flashed a grin at Agnarr. "Oh, I don't blame you for being angry, Mister Metcalfe," she said. "He should have won the race."

Agnarr saw the mischievous glint in her eye and turned away to hide his smile.

"What you do mean?" Shelby asked, flabbergasted. "The only way I could have won was if Beyla had broken a leg or something."

"It's as much about the rider as it is about the horse," Iduna said. "I'm willing to bet I could beat you in a mile race with me riding Boone and you riding Beyla. Double or nothing."

"Done!" Shelby said.

"Tomorrow, here, same time," Iduna said. She extended her hand.

"Wait," Metcalfe said. "How do we know someone won't stuff the fjord horse so full of oats and hay that she can't run?"

Agnarr opened his mouth to protest the slight to Iduna, but she silenced him with a look. "My stablemaster and your man will watch over the horses to make sure there is no funny business," she said. "Agreed?"

"You have yourself a bet, Your Majesty."

"Just remember, Mister Shelby, I expect to be paid in full when I win. Cash only. No credit, no substitutions."

Shelby and Iduna shook hands, and they all parted ways.

"What are you up to, dear?" Agnarr asked as they rode back to the Castle.

"Defending my honor," Iduna said with an impish smile. "And skinning some more money off that arrogant man."

Agnarr threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

The next day, they were back at the racetrack. Word had gotten around, and townspeople crowded around the edges of the track. One enterprising young woman was working the crowd with a notebook, writing down bets. She had plenty of takers.

Agnarr stood near the starting line with Metcalfe. "I think Her Majesty may have gotten in over her head this time," Metcalfe said. "I'm not sure she'll even be able to stay in the saddle, much less win a mile-long race on a quarter horse."

Agnarr watched as Boone snorted and pranced. Iduna tugged at the reins. She looked even tinier seated on the large racehorse, while Shelby looked almost comical on Beyla, with his long legs hanging most of the way down the fjord horse's flanks.

Agnarr shook his head. Were all Americans this disparaging of their women? And so arrogant?

"Would you care to bet on that, Mister Metcalfe?"

Metcalfe pulled a face. "I would, if Your Majesty had not already taken the last of my spending money."

Agnarr gave him a sly smile. There seemed to be only one thing the Americans were more proud of than their horses. "You're in luck, then. Unlike my wife, I do accept substitutions. I'll wager fifty American dollars against that fine breech-loading rifle you demonstrated for me last week."

Metcalfe's mouth dropped open. "That's almost twice what it's worth!"

"Should be a no-brainer for you, then."

Metcalfe hesitated just for a moment, then stuck out his hand. "It's a wager!"

Shelby's manservant once again acted as starter. For the first lap, it looked like the same race as yesterday. Iduna and Boone pulled out to a quick lead and passed the starting pole while Shelby on Beyla was only halfway around the track.

When Iduna passed the starting line, it immediately became a different race.

She slowed Boone to a walk and let him get his wind until Shelby and Beyla caught up. Then she dug her heels into Boone's flanks and laid the crop on him, sprinting past Shelby. She was about a hundred and fifty yards ahead at the end of the second lap. She once again slowed Boone to a walk and waited for Shelby to catch up. She laid the crop on him, and they went around again. This time, she was only about a hundred yards ahead.

Iduna again slowed Boone to a walk. But this time, she not only let Shelby catch up, but waited until he was several hundred feet ahead before giving Boone the crop.

Agnarr held his breath, waiting to see if his wife's gamble would pay off.

Iduna caught Shelby when they reached the final turn. The two horses came thundering down the stretch to the roar of the townspeople. Boone slowly pulled ahead. He wasn't running nearly as fast as he had for the first laps, but Iduna dug her heels in and leaned low over his neck. They crossed the finish line two lengths in front of Shelby and Beyla.

The townspeople cheered. At least most of them did; apparently there were a few that had bet against their queen.

Shelby leaped down off Beyla, his face beet-red. "You cheated!" he shouted at Iduna.

"Shelby!" Metcalfe said, a horrified look on his face.

Agnarr took a threatening step forward. "Mind your tongue, Shelby!"

"My apologies, Your Majesty," Shelby said, not sounding sorry at all, "but in a horse race, the horse is supposed to run, not walk."

Iduna patted Boone's neck and dismounted. "The bet was I could beat you in a mile race. Both horses covered the distance of a mile. I won. If you had done that yesterday, you would've won, and there would have been no accusations of cheating." Her gaze hardened. "So unless you're impugning my integrity…"

Shelby's eyes darted back and forth between Iduna and Agnarr. Agnarr smothered a smile. _He doesn't know whether to be more afraid of me or Iduna. Those tales of the shieldmaidens must have really gotten to him._

Iduna held out her hand. "Payment in full at the time of my victory, Mister Shelby. Cash only."

Shelby grumbled under his breath, but summoned his manservant for his pocketbook. He counted out the cash and handed it to Iduna. She smiled at him sweetly and folded it into the hip pocket of her breeches.

"I'll collect my prize this evening, Mister Metcalfe," Agnarr said.

Metcalfe nodded glumly.

* * *

That evening, Agnarr sat on a haybale in Beyla's stall, polishing his new rifle while Iduna treated the fjord horse with apples and gave her a good rubdown.

"I have to admit, this is a fine-looking rifle," Agnarr said, admiring the weapon's walnut stock. "Best hunting rifle in the world, according to Metcalfe."

"You don't hunt," Iduna pointed out, fussing with a knot in Beyla's tail.

"I'll hang it in the trophy room."

"What trophy room?"

"The one I'm thinking about having built. To accommodate my trophies."

"Again, you don't hunt."

"I'll hang it over our wedding portrait, then." He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap.

"Oh, am I a trophy wife now?" She pushed against his chest.

"Well, you are the best prize I've ever won."

He rolled them off the bale and into the straw on the floor, silencing her squeal with a kiss. They wrestled for a minute, until he was flat on his back with Iduna astride his hips.

"I win!" she proclaimed.

He grinned up at her. "Am I your prize this time?"

"Well…." She raised an eyebrow and started flicking open the buttons on his shirt. "I'm always ready for another ride…."

"Somehow I think that makes me the winner…."

He trailed off as she leaned over to kiss him.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

* * *

_A/N - thanks for reading! as always, would love your feedback!_


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